


Nowheresville, America

by cmshaw



Series: Skeezy Road Trip Rays [1]
Category: due South
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-06-11
Updated: 2002-06-11
Packaged: 2017-10-05 08:14:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/39592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cmshaw/pseuds/cmshaw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are a lot of things Vecchio would do that Fraser wouldn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nowheresville, America

Halfway between Hickville and The Sticks, Ray Vecchio lost it.

"Shut! The fuck! Up!" he yelled, and Ray Kowalski actually, wonder of wonders, shut up. He glared, but he glared silently, which probably saved his life, since Vecchio was _this close_ to doing something that would send this lovely car up in a billowing cloud of smoke. "If you _ever_," he said, "if you _ever_ start _one more sentence_ to me with the words 'Fraser wouldn't do that' then I _swear to God_, Stanley, I will kill you myself."

Kowalski crossed his arms and slouched aggressively, but silently, in the passenger seat. He wasn't wearing his sunglasses or even his regular glasses, but his eyes were unreadable anyway. Vecchio shifted his shoulders against the back of his seat and alternated between staring out at the nearly empty highway and trying to decide if Kowalski's five-o'clock-shadowed scowl was attractive in a manly sort of way or just ugly and irritating. Finally Kowalski sighed and sat up in his seat. "Well," he said, his voice conciliatory, "you could see it like payback for all the goddamn times I had to listen to Fraser start things like 'Vecchio wouldn't do this or that'."

"I'm not trying to _be_ Fraser," Vecchio said tightly.

Kowalski shrugged. "I know," he said, "but it fucking pissed me off all the same. And it's not that I want you to be Fraser. I'm just...used to that."

Vecchio ground his teeth. "I can stop at the next bus station and send you north to Canada," he said.

"I don't want to go back to Canada," Kowalski said. He turned his head to look out the window. "Take the next exit, okay?"

"Why?" Vecchio asked. The GTO still had a third of a tank of gas left.

"Because I want to stop, that's why," Kowalski said, and Vecchio sighed, flicked the turn signal with one impatient finger, and pulled off onto the exit ramp.

"Okay," he said, "where to?"

"Left," Kowalski said. A scrubby road ducked under the highway and emerged in the middle of fading graffiti and neon cigarette ads. "Turn in here," he said, pointing.

"Here?" Vecchio said. The undercarriage didn't scrape on the driveway, but it was a near thing, nearer than he liked with this car. "What, the parking lot?" He pulled into a parking space -- he had plenty of choices in front of a motel in the middle of the afternoon -- and stopped the car.

"Come on," Kowalski said. He unfolded himself from his regained slouch and stood in the middle of the cracked asphalt, swinging his arms and groaning. With a sigh Vecchio got out of the car. It did feel good to stretch, but heat was rising up in visible waves around him.

Meanly, Vecchio said, "Fraser wouldn't stop here."

Kowalski rolled his eyes. "Looks like Vecchio would, though." He walked around the back of the car and stood in front of Vecchio, reaching out to hook his fingers through Vecchio's beltloops. "There's a lot of things Vecchio would do that Fraser wouldn't, aren't there," he said.

Vecchio narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "What are you on about?" he asked.

Kowalski jerked his head toward the motel attached to their parking lot. "Hourly rates, they said." Before Vecchio could do more than sputter, he said, "I could stand a shower and a change of clothes. You?"

"Oh," Vecchio said. "That's actually a good idea."

"Yeah," Kowalski said, "and I'll fuck you, too."

Vecchio put his hands on Kowalski's chest and pushed him away. "Oh, that'll feel good, sitting on those stupid car seats for the next twelve hours."

"Can't get any _less_ comfortable," Kowalski said, and grinned. "Besides, I didn't mean _fuck_ you, fuck you. I can suck you off if you'd rather."

A shiny little import car pulled into the parking lot, then around back. Vecchio waited until it was out of sight and then said, "Or I could fuck you."

Kowalski, who had never let go of his belt-loops, tugged him toward the motel. "Okay," he said.

*****

The lobby of the motel had been surprisingly clean, if not particularly cooler than the parking lot, and the teenaged boy behind the desk had handed a key right over when they'd asked for a room -- Vecchio had briefly entertained improbable but unpleasant thoughts of being called a fag and kicked out of town, although he'd never yet seen an hourly motel turn down a paying customer. The room was cool, and it was nearly dark behind the heavy curtains which they didn't bother to open. Kowalski clicked on the bedside lamp.

"Shower first?" Vecchio asked, peeling off his socks and rubbing his bare feet on the almost-bare carpet.

"Sex first," Kowalski said, and he crowded Vecchio back onto the mattress and settled down on top of him. Vecchio brought his legs up and around Kowalski's hips as he arched into Kowalski's kiss. It was so fucking hard to stay mad at Kowalski for more than a few minutes; he still couldn't imagine why Kowalski and Fraser had broken up, or why Kowalski had practically flung himself at Vecchio barely a month later. He couldn't understand it, but he had damn sure taken advantage of it and never looked back. Fraser hadn't even seemed to _care_.

Vecchio rolled them over on the bed until he was lying on top of Kowalski, then leaned down and bit one of Kowalski's nipples through the thin teeshirt. Would Fraser do that, he wondered, feeling Kowalski's chest press against him. Would Fraser make Kowalski shower first, or would he do something bizarre like stick his face in Kowalski's sweaty armpit? Vecchio closed his eyes, shook his head, and pushed Kowalski's teeshirt far enough up that he could close his mouth directly around the reddened nipple.

The hell with it, he decided. What would _Vecchio_ do? He answered himself: _Vecchio_ would take this man, take his beautiful car, take his stupid punk fashion sense and his bad-ass motorcycle boots, take him and drive halfway across the country with him and fuck him in a sleazy no-tell motel in a sleazy truck-stop town. Vecchio would peel him out of his sweaty travelling clothes and bite his nipples and fist his cock until Kowalski spread his legs against the floral-patterned bedspread and humped at the air, begging for it. Begging _Vecchio_ for it. And then Vecchio would break out the condoms and the lube and give it to him, hard and fast and nasty in the middle of the afternoon in the middle of nowhere. That's what Vecchio would do.

So that's what he did, except that meaning to do it and actually doing it turned out as different as they always did for people who weren't Benny Fraser. He had to stop halfway through and hop angrily around the room, cussing fit to make his mother faint because the zipper on his jeans was stuck and Kowalski was laughing too hard to help him with it. When he finally did get himself naked, Kowalski grabbed him and rolled him onto his back and sucked his cock for a while, and plans or no plans he wasn't about to tell Kowalski to stop right away. His hands kept slipping on Kowalski's skin, too, with travel-sweat and sex-sweat and a leaking packet of lube greasing them up almost to the point of ridiculousness, and Kowalski grabbed hold of Vecchio's shoulder between his teeth and bit down hard enough to hurt while he rubbed himself between Vecchio's thighs. Still, the plan was a good one, and it worked, and when Vecchio put his hands on Kowalski's ass and held him open and sank his latex-sheathed cock into that hot slippery body he shouted out loud, wordlessly, with something wildly like delight.

They hadn't actually ever used the word _love_, except in the context of the occasional "I _love_ this beer", but Vecchio thought that if the rest of the trip went more like this instead of like the morning when they'd been snapping back and forth for miles he might be willing to say it by the time they got home again.

Kowalski was moaning and squirming underneath him, and Vecchio put his attention into getting the right rhythm with his hips, the rhythm that would make Kowalski yell and beg and claw at the bedspread. The mattress bounced underneath them, squeaking in time, and Vecchio clutched tightly at Kowalski's body and gasped out a warning that he was about to come already. Kowalski put his forehead down on the bed and came first, grinding his hips up at Vecchio, and Vecchio pushed back down into him and kept moving even after he filled the condom in long aching spasms. When he finally collapsed onto Kowalski's sweat-soaked back, he was shaking too hard to move immediately.

"Now I want that shower," Kowalski mumbled, and Vecchio laughed into his shoulderblades and kissed the back of his neck.


End file.
